


because the weather is perfect here

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling, Fluff, Get together fic, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Patrick Brewer is Secretly Noah Reid, Time Skips, canon divergent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: David falls in love witha songwhen he first moves to Schitt's Creek.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	because the weather is perfect here

**Author's Note:**

> been very into noah's music as of late and 'hate this town' gives me Big Feelings. this idea was kicking around in my head for a week or two and i finally got it down, and im quite pleased! this plays fast and loose with patrick's backstory, his interpretation of new york, and what living in new york is probably actually like. also this obviously plays fast and loose when 'hate this town' actually came out, but _hand waves_.
> 
> warning for s6 spoilers! 
> 
> big thanks to pip for beta'ing!

David finds the song on the cramped, disgusting flight to Elm Valley’s airport. He listens to it at least twenty-five times on the drive from Elm Valley to _Schitt’s Creek_ , their new home. After they’re settled in their rooms, even though it’s still early evening, he crawls into bed and listens to the song on repeat until he falls into a fitful sleep. 

It’s more country than he usually goes for—like, a _lot_ more country. But it’s angry, too, and it soothes his aching, bitter soul. The twang of the guitar and the haunting harmonies give him some strange kind of hope. Like, like things aren’t so bad knowing there is someone else out there as angry as he is about where they live. 

He listens to that song a lot their first year in Schitt’s Creek. He listens to it nightly, using it to drown out whatever Alexis is prattling on about. He hums it in the shower, even if he doesn’t dare play it via Bluetooth since his family would only bug him about it. When he steals Roland’s truck to drive aimlessly into the night, he plays it then too. He plays it loud with the windows rolled down and for the first time since they were hustled out of their mansion, the world feels like it’s not crumbling underneath him. 

It’s on every one of his different playlists—he’s got ones for shopping, sulking, smoking—including one of his work playlists. He has one playlist for when Wendy isn’t around, and one for when she is, which is most of the time when he finally starts working at Blouse Barn. 

He only takes the job out of severe duress; he might be broke but he’s not _stupid_. He knows how jobs work and he knows no matter how much he hates Schitt’s Creek and the numerous surrounding Elm-whatevers, a job is the only thing that might get him out of the stupid town. His non-Wendy playlist is the only thing that keeps him sane sometimes.

Well, that, and selling off the various tacky pieces of decor Wendy thought were smart choices and revamping Blouse Barn as something he can stand to be in for four hours at a time. Really, though, the playlist calms him the most. 

The Wendy playlist is carefully curated with lots of poppy things and older classics, songs that keep Wendy happy and keep her out of David’s business as much as possible. The non-Wendy playlist is also finely curated, except with more swearing and racier lyrics. He splurges a bit with the company card to get their stereo system hooked up with Bluetooth, but it’s necessary in case he needs to switch playlists at the drop of a hat. Say, if Wendy happens to drop by because she doesn’t quite trust David to run the store alone yet, for his exhausting four hours. 

Eventually she lets up, but it comes with the cost of him working longer shifts. His playlist isn’t quite long enough to go the entire six-hour shift without repeating, but sometimes he likes hearing the same songs a couple times throughout the day. Especially _that_ song; when the guitar starts off, with the smooth and slightly unremarkable voice of the singer, it falls over David and the store like a warm Givenchy sweater. 

The song is playing overhead when he meets _him_.

The man comes in to Blouse Barn and that alone is surprising enough. David is pretty sure the only men ever in this store are himself, and the one time with Roland. David shudders at the thought. He eyes the man as he slips into the store: cropped brown hair, a plain blue button-down, jeans that fit but aren’t remarkable in any other sense. He looks like a man on a mission and immediately David thinks, _shopping for a wife_. David stares a moment longer and thinks, _maybe mom._

It’s with great reluctance that David speaks over Mariah Carey playing over the speakers to ask, “Can I help you find something?”

The man doesn’t startle. His gaze whips over to David. He doesn’t look especially lost, but he approaches the counter anyway. He puts both hands on the counter, very serious and businesslike. “I’m looking for a gift for my mother,” he says.

David gives himself an internal pat on the back for calling it, then stands up a little straighter. “Well we have blouses,” he says, gesturing to all of the store. “We also have some new leather ponchos.” He hasn’t been able to sell one yet, but he’s hopeful. 

The man’s lips quirk to the side, almost like a grin but not quite. “I don’t think my mom needs a leather poncho.”

“She might,” David says. “I can show you them.”

The man stares at him for a beat. “No, I think I’m good.” He makes a show of leaning closer, squinting at the garish little nametag stuck to David’s sweatshirt. “Thanks, David. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

David scoffs softly, shaking his head. “Fine then,” he says, only half as sharp as he actually means to be. The man grins at him and then starts perusing the store. David turns toward the back counter and shuffles some papers around, intent on ignoring him until he absolutely has to deal with him. The music overhead doesn’t quite drown out the man’s scuffed footsteps or the teeth-clenching grind of hangers on metal racks. 

David relaxes minutely when the song finally comes on. The first note of the guitar is like a balm on his irritation, and he hums along with the first line: _good God, I hate this town._

There’s a distinctly ungodly screech from across the store and David huffs. Leave it to this mystery man to cut into David’s enjoyment of the song that’s gotten him through the roughest times of his life. 

“Did you need something?” David snaps, loud enough to cut across the not-quite-southern twang of the singer. 

The man peers around a mannequin with eyes wide and mouth open. “Uh, is this a...store playlist?”

David purses his lips. “It’s a playlist _I_ made for the store, yes.”

He ‘ah’s, nodding. “I didn’t realize a lot of people knew this song.” 

David blinks. “I _love_ this song.” A little bit of excitement flares up inside his chest. He’s never really connected with anyone over anything, not since his family lost everything. Not at Blouse Barn, and certainly not in Schitt’s Creek. Well, except for Stevie, but she was a rarity in more ways than one.

Impossibly, for whatever reason, the man’s cheeks flush. “Yeah, it’s good,” he agrees with a tentative smile. He approaches the counter again—approaches _David._

Those words are like the dam breaking, for David. He’s always had this...problem, with getting a little _gushy_ about things. He did it as a kid until his parents’ and Alexis’ disinterest knocked it out of him. He used to do it at art galleries, until he realized it was unbecoming. He hasn’t had the chance to _gush_ in far too long, and the words start coming before he can really stop them.

“Ugh, right? It’s _so_ good. It just,” he taps his chest, near his heart, “ _speaks_ to me. My family and I had to move to this town nearby and it’s just fucking awful, the literal worst. I found this song on the flight over and it’s just helped so much. Like yes, I _do_ fucking hate this town, thanks!” David lets out a sigh of relief after his bout of word vomit. He grins at the man, only to find a perplexed expression looking back.

“What town?” The man asks.

David waves a hand as he admits, sheepishly, “Schitt’s Creek. It’s a long story.”

The man ‘ah’s again. “You know…” His brow furrows and his quirky little mouth finally pulls into a frown. “You know this song isn’t about small towns, right?”

“What?” 

“It’s, uh, it’s not about small towns. The song.” The man shifts slightly; David’s only known the guy for ten minutes, but ‘awkward fidgeting’ is not a great look for him. “The song is about the big city. New York, specifically. It’s about being in New York and fucking hating it, and the people there, and wanting to just… Get away. Get far, far away.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence—the song is short, and it’s over now, and the playlist is taking a second to go to the next song—before David speaks. “Who the fuck could hate New York?” 

The man looks even more shocked by this news. “Uh, loads of people. Me, for one.” He looks uncomfortable, and a little angry, and David can relate. 

“New York is _great_ ,” David snaps. “I miss New York so fucking much.”

The man laughs incredulously. “Why would you miss it? It’s depressing and awful.”

“I mean, yeah, it rains a lot—?”

“The rain is the best part!” The man actually _throws his hands in the air_. He’s waving the blouse around; David startles back with a scowl. “The rain in New York is the only good thing! The city is beautiful when it rains but people who lives there is too scared to go out if there’s so much as a drizzle!” The man’s arms dropped to his sides and he looks a little flushed in the face. It’s less cute now than it was five minutes ago. 

“The rain is disgusting,” David says, even though he doesn’t really mean it. He’s always sort of loved the rain, as long as it wasn’t getting on his clothes. There were times he’d go to the beach in clothes at least six seasons old and just sit on the docks while it rained. Only late at night, of course, when no one was around to see him. Looking back, it maybe wasn’t his smartest tradition, but his entire body aches with how much he misses it.

“The rain is amazing,” the man says with such conviction it startles David into taking another step back. “The song just...isn’t about small towns.”

“Well, _excuse me_. How do you even know, anyway?” David crosses his arms over his chest. It feels like a _checkmate_ gesture until the man rolls his eyes. David falters slightly and grips at his sweater a little tighter, almost hugging himself. He hopes it’s not obvious.

“The singer, Noah, I, uh. He’s done interviews, talking about it. They’re on YouTube.” The man looks away and the flush has traveled to his ears, his neck. “I think, at least. I just remember when the song came out.”

“Uh-huh.” David chews the inside of his cheek. He hates the sinking feeling in his chest that feels like belief, belief that this stranger is right about the meaning of the song. David’s never turned the lyrics over in his head a lot, more enamored with the beat and the powerful sentiment of hating where you are. But as he thinks about the lyrics now, he can see how they might be about big cities like New York. 

The man looks a little less red when he finally looks at David again. “It’s still a really good song.”

“Mm, actually, it’s kind of ruined for me.” It hurts more than he expects to say. He’s clung to this song for the last year, clung to it _desperately_. Now it makes him kind of sick to his stomach, makes him angry and even more bitter than when he first landed in Schitt’s Creek. “Are you ready to check out?”

The man looks down at the blouse in his hands. Eventually he shakes his head and passes it over to David, who fumbles to grasp at it. “No, I think I’m good.” He turns on his heel and he leaves to the tune of Lady Gaga. 

David holds the limp, blue blouse in his hands and glares at the closed door. “Thanks a lot,” he says aloud to no one.

* * *

He stops listening to the song but it pops up in his ‘Most-Listened To’ lists a lot, mocking him. He mostly puts it out of his mind, even though the urge to listen to it strikes him when bad things keep happening. Bad things like Wendy letting him go because she has to shut down Blouse Barn; even when he manages to get her a _much_ better closing cost, and even when he takes home forty grand of it for himself, he thinks about playing the song. When his mom and dad go nearly three thousand dollars over budget on the family car, he thinks about the song. Bad things like realizing his parents paid off all his gallery patrons and that he’s never done anything worthwhile on his own. 

Hell, he even considers listening to it when Christmas World pulls out of their offer for the general store space. The space is his, if he wants it, and all he can think is _I really, really hate this town_. 

Things only get worse from there. He shows up to Ray’s _early_ , because he is a capable human being, thanks, but Ray is in the middle of something. ‘Something’ being the worst engagement photoshoot David’s ever seen, and he’s seen quite a few in his day. Ray tells him to take a number and David does, but he’s half-tempted to crumple it up and leave.

Except he really needs to file this paperwork, because he’s committed to opening his store and there’s no turning back now. The thought fills him with equal parts excitement and dread. It’s like a seesaw of emotions, tipping one way one day, the other way the next. This morning, he’d felt pretty firmly situated on the ‘excitement’ side of things.

Ray calls for “Patrick,” and the man from Blouse Barn comes around the corner. David feels frozen to the spot as Ray unnecessarily adds, “B13,” with a gesture to David. Just like that, David lands solidly on the ‘dread’ side of his emotional seesaw.

David blinks as he realizes the man—Patrick—is staring at him. For lack of anything else to do, David passes over the slightly crumpled paper slip and says, “This is for you.”

Patrick takes it, something like a smile flitting across his face, and tucks it into a pocket of his sensible jeans. Then, impossibly, he holds out a hand to David. “Patrick,” he greets, also unnecessarily.

David reaches out to shake his hand and wonders if, somehow, _Patrick_ won’t remember him from a few months ago. “David,” he replies, ignoring how warm Patrick’s hand feels in his. And how the last time he was this close to him it was during one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. 

Patrick points at him, “David Rose,” he says knowingly, “you bought the general store.” 

“Leased,” David is quick to correct. “Leased the general store, yeah.” For a single, blissful moment, David thinks he might actually get away with this little meet-cute. Their meet-ugly forgotten to the sands of time.

Except then Patrick says, “That’s a big deal.”

And when David asks, “Is it?” Patrick only smirks and adds, “It’s quite the step up from Blouse Barn,” and David wants the earth to open up a cavern large enough to swallow him whole. 

Patrick doesn’t say anything else about their ill-fated first meeting and instead turns with a gesture to his desk. Simply, kindly, in a way that infuriates and calms David at the same time, Patrick gently suggests, “Wanna sit?” 

* * *

David clearly isn’t thinking straight when he calls Patrick. His myriad of voicemails proves that. First, he calls Patrick _‘David,’_ and it’s all downhill from there. He’s finally starting to sober up when he realizes what he’s done and yet somehow, still alone in what will eventually be _Rose Apothecary_ , David dials him again.

Patrick still doesn’t answer, which is rude and weird. Who goes so long without answering their phone? Assholes, usually. Except Patrick doesn’t really seem like an asshole; even when he was lecturing David about the song, he didn’t seem like an asshole. The only other time people don’t answer their phones is if they’re, like, hurt—or, a voice that sounds like Stevie supplies, if they don’t want to talk to you. David ignores that voice.

David’s in a panic by the time the call goes to Patrick’s voicemail so the first thing he says is, “I hope you aren’t dead. You haven’t been answering and usually people who don’t answer aren’t answering because they’re hurt, so. Like. I hope you’re not hurt or anything. I hope you didn’t crash while listening to my voicemails, especially because I asked you to delete them, so. There’s really no need to listen to them.”

David takes a second to collect his thoughts and ends up adding, “I think I always knew the song was about New York,” in a hush. He opens his mouth to say more, but he doesn’t know what to say. He takes so long, there’s an automated voice telling him he’s out of time and asks if he’d like to rerecord his message or to hang up, and try again.

He hangs up and he tries again. 

“So, uh, still hope you’re not dead, but honestly that was probably just the weed talking. You’re not dead, or hurt, or whatever. Anyway.” David swallows and forces himself to get the words out. “That song, the one...the one from Blouse Barn. I think I always knew it was about New York, and I think that might be why I liked it so much. I loved New York, a lot. I loved that city so much but god, I fucking hated it too, you know?

“I hated the people there, but I didn’t realize it until we were being forced out of our house and forced to come here. I hated it here too, don’t get me wrong. But no one from New York even fucking called me, no one has even cared if I was okay, and you’re right, people fucking _hate_ rain in New York, who even _does that_?”

He’s rambling, and he knows the voicemail will cut him off again soon, but he can’t make himself stop. “I don’t know when I started hating New York. I think it was so tied up in hating everything else that it just became a lot...a lot of hate.” David’s shoulders slump as he speaks. An overwhelming sadness fills him; it hits him like a suckerpunch, just how sad he was here, for so long. “I miss New York,” he admits, a little ashamed, “but I’m really excited for the store and, uh, I’ll be in tomorrow to—?”

The phone cuts him off again and David doesn’t call him back this time. He’ll see Patrick tomorrow, it’s fine. Everything’s _fine_.

* * *

Patrick agrees to help him with Rose Apothecary; even better, Patrick lets him kiss him on their first date. Everything is considerably more than fine.

* * *

They’re lying in Stevie’s bed, both sated and a little sweaty after some fumbling handjobs, when Patrick brings it up. He’s brushing a hand through David’s hair, peppering kisses along his hairline, when he says, “So, the song.”

David blinks blearily, still distracted by the lust thrumming in his veins. They’ve got all night, sure, but he’s kind of eager to make the most out of their privacy. He looks up at Patrick. “The song?”

“‘Hate This Town,’” Patrick replies. 

“Oh.” David sits up a little straighter until he and Patrick are leaning against the headboard. “Uh, what about it?”

Patrick shifts uncomfortably. “Well, so...I play guitar.”

“Oh?” David arches an eyebrow, suddenly immensely curious. 

“Yeah, and...and I sing.” Patrick looks away from him, intently studying the lackluster decor of Stevie’s apartment. “A couple friends and I were in a band, in college, and we made a record.”

_“What?”_

“It was really nothing, it was _barely_ an EP. But, uh. Well.” He fidgets more and David finally gives in to the urge to wrap an arm across Patrick’s shoulders.

“I promise I’ll still kiss you even if you’re a one-hit wonder. Or a no-hit wonder.” David smiles at him, doing his best to be reassuring. “It wouldn’t be the first time I dated a failed musician.”

Patrick finally relaxes a little and laughs. “I wouldn’t say _failed_. The album was kind of popular for a while, but it mostly fell off the radar. We got too busy with school to keep the band together, and I honestly kind of forgot about it.”

“Did any of your songs play on the radio?” David grins. 

Patrick ducks his head, bashful. “Yeah, some of them. Nothing crazy, but I heard my own songs a time or two on long drives.”

“Oh, so I’m dating a low-level popstar, is what you’re saying?” David can’t stop grinning and he finally gives in to the urge to slide into Patrick’s lap. Patrick’s hands find his hips but he’s still looking bashful and David wants to coax the bragging right out of him.

“More like a low-level country star, if you want to exaggerate the truth slightly.”

David starts to shudder, “Ugh, _country_ ,” he says, until everything clicks into place. His mouth drops open and Patrick starts laughing at him, which isn’t helpful, because David is coming to the realization that his boyfriend is somehow a musician. 

And the singer of the song that kept David going through his first two years in Schitt’s Creek. 

“Are you fucking kidding?” David asks, urgent but without heat. He slaps at Patrick’s arm. “That wasn’t released by a band, though! And the guy’s name is _Noah_ something-or-other!”

Patrick’s nodding along and he’s still laughing a little bit at David. “Uh, yeah. Noah Reid. We could never decide on a band name so we just picked a name for the lead singer—”

“ _You._ You’re talking about _yourself_.”

“Yeah, for me,” Patrick allows. His grin is crooked and humble and embarrassed. “I dunno, we just ran with it.”

“So all those interviews on YouTube about the song…?”

“There were no interviews,” Patrick says with a laugh. “We weren’t _that_ big.”

“Mm.” David squints at his boyfriend, scrutinizes him. “I didn’t know you’d ever been to New York.”

Patrick’s hands tighten on David’s hip momentarily before relaxing. “It wasn’t a long stay. I, uh. I was taking some time off from school and visiting someone and it was...pretty miserable. It rained a lot, which I didn’t mind, but no one ever wanted to go out and do anything. I couldn’t go home, because I’d promised a friend I’d stay in town for them, so I just felt...trapped. The band thing was working out okay but I’d see people every day in bars or on the streets, looking like...like the city just kicked the shit out of them, and it was so…”

David nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was.”

Patrick finally looks up at him. “Sorry for hiding this sordid past from you for so long.”

A surprised laugh bursts from David before he can stop it. “Oh, yeah, it’s a total dealbreaker.” He bends slightly to kiss Patrick, softly at first and then firmer, again and again. “Clearly,” he mumbles against Patrick’s lips. “We’ll have to break up immediately.”

“Gotcha,” Patrick replies, arms winding warm and tight around David’s waist. “I completely understand.

* * *

David finds out later that the ‘friend’ Patrick stayed in New York for was Rachel. He’s not mad about it; how can he be, when they’re already up and over the hill of Rachel in general? Mostly, he’s sad that even the potential good parts of New York were tainted for Patrick back then. That’s why he rolls over, a few nights into sleeping at their new house, a few weeks after being married, almost a year after finding out about Rachel at all, and hisses, _“Patrick.”_

Patrick opens one eye. “Hm?” He asks, sounding drowsy.

David probably should’ve saved this for morning, but well, too late. “I want to go to New York.”

Patrick’s brow furrowed. “I know I said I’d follow you anywhere, but we bought a house, David. You can’t return a house.”

David rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying I want to go _permanently._ I want to take a trip there, with you. Show you all the things you missed out on, way back when.”

Patrick turns his head and now both eyes are open. He’s smiling faintly at David, which is cute even with the pillow crease along one cheek. “We could go see Alexis.”

“Ugh,” David scoffs, only half-meaning it. “I mean, maybe. Sure. But mostly I want it to be an _us_ thing.”

Patrick drapes an arm over David’s waist and tugs him minutely closer. “Sure,” he agrees easily. “Whenever you want.”

David smiles, relaxing into their bed. “Yeah? You don’t hate New York forever?”

“David, I really was willing to follow you anywhere, even New York. Even permanently. Going now, when I know what we get to come home to? Second easiest decision of my life.” 

David’s heart swells slightly every time he hears Patrick use the word _home_. This time is no different.

“Going now would be the best trip I could imagine, whatever we end up doing. Even if we don’t go out in the rain.”

“We can go out in the rain,” David replies immediately. “We can do everything, except the tacky tourist things.”

Patrick laughs. “Naturally.”

David leans in and kisses him. “I think you’ll like New York.”

“If you’re there,” Patrick says against his lips, “I already do.”


End file.
